


Shadow Boxing With Kangaroos

by misura



Category: Proof of Life (2000)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In short, Terry Thorne, age twenty-two, was a self-satisfied loser with a holier-than-thou attitude, a martyr complex and a stick up his ass.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Boxing With Kangaroos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/gifts).



> prompt: _Terry/Dino, someone's lying to us_

Terry always lied about the kangaroos.

He was the new kid - worse: he was an Australian. A certain amount of hazing, teasing and good-natured roughing up seemed inevitable. He'd planned for it. Saved up a few pounds here and there, committed people's favorite drinks to memory (being smart: not the same as being as a smartass).

Pictured buying them all a round, eventually. One day.

To be completely honest, it didn't actually help make him feel better at the time. He didn't have a problem with following orders, or sticking to regulations, or figuring out which rules you were supposed to break and which ones you stuck to, no matter what.

He did have a problem with getting picked on, though. He fancied he could tell when it was happening, when a joke was meant to be mean, rather than funny.

In short, Terry Thorne, age twenty-two, was a self-satisfied loser with a holier-than-thou attitude, a martyr complex and a stick up his ass.

And then came the day when he lost his temper, and everything changed.

 

The other guy - not quite English, either; he talked with the faintest trace of an accent - he started it.

Five years later, Terry wouldn't quite remember the exact insult. Five weeks later, he would decide it was forgivable - five months later, he was pretty sure he'd thought it kind of funny (but then, many things were, with a few too many drinks in you to cloud your judgment).

At the moment itself, it was the wrong combination of words at the wrong time in the wrong place.

There was no physical contact; no semi-friendly poke or shove. They were walking past one another in a hallway, headed in opposite directions. Casual. Practically strangers, or no, _actual_ strangers. More or less.

It was never made entirely clear to Terry how he ended up with the guy's throat under his hands, and one of his knees in a perfect position to do something really, really painful. He did realize, and not just in hindsight, that this wasn't the kind of full-body contact people were able to walk away from, after.

Translation: there was a pretty good chance he'd just fucked himself over.

Of course, by the time he figured this out, it was already too late, so he settled for uttering some profanities. They made him feel marginally better.

The other guy seemed ... amused. Like a nice guy who'd just taken a cheap shot because he was the type of guy who couldn't resist taking cheap shots.

 

"Hi."

 _Name,_ Terry thought. _I need a name. Do I know this guy? Does he know me? Have I seen his picture somewhere? Did someone ever point him out to me? Is there a point to asking yourself things you already know you don't know?_ "Hi."

"Touchy, aren't you?"

"Buy you a drink?" Terry asked. Maybe it was the madness of the moment, the adrenaline, the certainty that he'd just thrown away a career that might have become something in another ten years.

Maybe it was instinct. Intuition. Destiny. His natural ability to bullshit people rising to the surface.

"I think I'm going to want more than one, mate," the guy said. "Still, like the way you think."

And that was how Terry met Dino.

 

Dino was an asshole, but he was also a nice guy.

"First time we met, Terry beat the living daylights out of me."

Dino talked too much, but he was also a good listener.

"It was love at first sight," Dino said, and leaned over.

Dino was a sloppy kisser, but he also gave the best blowjobs Terry'd ever had (not that that was saying much, but still. At twenty-three, Terry felt he could tell the difference between quality and quantity and a perfect combination of both.)

Terry didn't kiss back, because he didn't kiss guys in public - he was still on a career track here, out to show Mum and Dad and Brother Dear, and everybody knew Dino, anyway; it wasn't the same for him.

In short, Terry Thorne, age twenty-three, was still a self-satisfied loser with a holier-than-thou attitude and a martyr complex, even if the stick up his ass had gone, to make room for other things.

 

"We fight kangaroos in Australia," he told Dino, naked, at the age of twenty-five. "That's how I got to be this tough. It's good practice."

(This was the lie he always told. His one concession to his Australian-ness.)

"I'm quitting SAS and going private," Dino said.

 

What Dino didn't say was: _I'm quitting_ you. It wasn't personal.

It was about getting rich, and not taking any shit and orders from some jerkass who didn't know what he was doing, and only taking the assignments you wanted to take, and being your own man.

"Bullshit," Terry said, and then, because _that_ clearly wasn't helping any: "Come on, Dino."

"The money's better," Dino said. "Everything's better."

"Not the company," Terry said.

"Some distance isn't such a bad thing, sometimes. You might finally get that promotion."

"Fuck the promotion."

"Language, Mr Negotiator in Training. Language."

"Fuck you."

"Sounds like a plan."

 

"A change of pace," Terry said, one year, seven months, two weeks and three days later. It was a Monday.

He was sitting in a comfortable chair, in a comfortable office, in the heart of the business district of London. The place would be a nightmare to defend effectively, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. Bad enough that he hadn't been able to keep from thinking it.

"I'd have to say I'm looking for a change of pace. Less running around waving a gun, more ... using my other skills and talents. And of course the money's better.

In all fairness, though, it's not about the money for me. It's about the job. I'm good at it, and I'm only going to get better, and I think Luthian Risk Management will be a good place for me to develop myself. Your dental plan is excellent, too."

 

"Buy you a drink?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who'd fall for that kind of line?"

"Absolutely."

"Well-spotted."


End file.
